


Holiday Roast

by neck_mole



Series: Carry On Countdown 2018 [17]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Bad Cooking, Couch Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Post-Watford (Simon Snow)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:51:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17125115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neck_mole/pseuds/neck_mole
Summary: “We… wanted to make a holiday roast,” Snow offers pitifully, pressing up against me on the couch as the fans whirl around us.-In attempts to be endearing, Simon nearly burns down his flat.





	Holiday Roast

**Author's Note:**

> Carry On Countdown 2018 Day 29: Christmas Dinner

I shouldn't have left them alone.

 

It was utterly and completely idiotic of me to leave them to their own devices.

 

You know what my favorite part of walking into a flat filled with a cloud of black smoke is? The image of my boyfriend standing at a window, waving a sheet pan profusely as Bunce stands on a chair barking orders at him to wave faster.

 

The lingering stench of over baked Yorkshire pudding and the sight of a clearly burnt roast overwhelms my senses as I cover half of my face with my jacket. “Aleister Crowley, why the fuck isn't the alarm going off?”

 

“I hit it really hard!” Snow shouts back, not stopping his waving. “Think it broke!”

 

“It's hanging half off the ceiling,” Bunce adds, screeching pointedly.

 

So it is dangling from the ceiling. It’s hanging by three wires, two of with hang taught while the other dangles haphazardly. I think he hit it with Bunce's “home defense bat”. 

 

Sighing, I rush over to turn off the oven and stove, grabbing a dish rag and joining Snow in attempts to clear out the flat.

 

After a bit, I hear the aerosol spraying of room freshener behind us.

 

Now it smells like burnt tropical paradise. Lovely. 

 

The room finally clears (for the most part) after we found the stored off summer fans and blasted them towards the windows. Of course, Bunce refuses to close them until it doesn't reek, so it's dropped below freezing in the entire flat.

 

Snow mocks me for keeping on my winter coat and gloves, but doesn't protest when I envelope the both of us into the parka.

 

“What in the name of Jack Parsons were you doing?!” I ask, narrowing my brows at the both of them. “I go off for holiday lunch and tea with Fiona, then  _ this _ happens?”

 

“We… wanted to make a holiday roast,” Snow offers pitifully, pressing up against me on the couch as the fans whirl around us.

 

“You can barely work a toaster oven. Why didn't you ask me?”

 

“It was supposed to be a surprise, you tit,” Bunce huffs, finally joining us in the common area wearing what looks like three jumpers and the thickest socks I've ever seen. “Mr. Romance over here wanted to make a nice dinner and  _ didn't  _ want to follow timing instructions.”

 

“Instructions are bullshit. I know how to check an oven.”

 

I snort, looking down at him. “Clearly not.” He responds with ridiculously adorable pouting.

 

“I got caught up in a Christmas movie,” he grumbles, simply snuggling closer to me.

 

Dropping a hand to his hair, I thread through his knotted curls (he was pulling at them earlier; there's a little flour left from the pudding's dry mix). He sort of loosens up to that, tucking his nose into my neck and making Bunce roll her eyes. I just send back a scrunched nose before kissing Snow's forehead.

 

“Well, if you two are done making me feel ill, may I suggest we actually find a way to eat tonight, since Simon burnt our dinner?”

 

Snow and I exchange looks before he shrugs. “Take-out,” we say in unison, my hands tucked under his arms (it's warm in there, my hands are always freezing, and it's somewhat more socially acceptable than stuffing them between his thighs).

 

Bunce sighs, hauling up onto her feet before going to grab the pamphlet menu off the fridge. “If you're planning on being gross, take it to your room,” she says, sending us a look.

 

In retaliation, Snow sticks out his tongue at her before leaning up to peck my cheek. “Sorry for fucking up,” he whispers, lingering against my skin.

 

“You didn't fuck up,” I murmur, eyes drooping as I focus on his breath. “Just ask me to help next time, alright?”

 

He kisses me softly, hand resting against my chest as he breaks back for just a second. “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> welp, this is it for the 2018 COC fics for me! tomorrow's post is going to be an art post (if you don't follow me on tumblr and you want to see all the other COC posts i've made, since i've been posting every day, my account is @neck-mole), so this is my last post before i go back to my other fics!
> 
> it's been absolutely wonderful to be writing this past month! i'm absolutely amazed at how many people have actually been reading all of these, and i'm beyond ecstatic when i read your comments. if i find time, i might expand upon some of the fics i'd written, since i got so many requests (and since i quite liked the universes i'd set them in). just feel free to be a bit nosey with me!
> 
> thank you all and have a happy COC ending!


End file.
